


Three Months

by robotictia4



Series: Road to Sterek [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fights, Implied Sexual Content, Kidnapped Stiles, M/M, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 03:58:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4732064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotictia4/pseuds/robotictia4
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sequel to 'My Future is Yours' (though I'm pretty sure you don't have to read that one in order to get this one. You might get a tiny bit confused, but for the most part, it can be read as a standalone.) </p>
<p>OR</p>
<p>Three months after Derek goes into the future, witches are running around town and they've made it their goal to get at the Beacon Hills pack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Months

**Author's Note:**

> So, hello again!
> 
> Sorry this was up kinda later than I intended, because it was my birthday and then writer's block and then my mom's birthday and it was just bleh. 
> 
> Anyway, Stiles and Derek have been dating three months--since Derek returned from the future and there are witches stirring up trouble.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf or any of its characters.

It had been three months since the faerie incident.

It had also been three months since Derek apparently traveled to the future and liked what he saw so much that he decided to commence dating Stiles practically the minute Derek returned from his venture.

And Stiles was still confused as all hell.

He’d spent the entire first month of his relationship with Derek watching Derek for signs of head trauma or something equally damaging. He’d been the same old grumpy Derek, however, albeit a little more prone to smiling. And the first time Stiles had seen Derek actually _laugh?_ At one of _his_ jokes?

Stiles had just about lost it.

However, given that Derek was generally the same as he had been before his little trip to the future, Stiles eventually let it go and let himself enjoy the fact that he was actually dating Derek Hale. Like, the whole nine yards—hand holding to the extreme. And kissing. That was pretty freaking awesome, too.

“Derek? Seriously, tell me what happened—when you traveled into the future.” Derek was used to this question and gave the same answer he always did without looking up from the book he was reading.

“No.” Stiles wasn’t above pouting to get his way. He’d noticed, rather quickly, that if he only pulled out the puppy eyes, Derek would give in to whatever it was Stiles wanted. Stiles had never thought of using them to get Derek to answer his question before and, frankly, was rather disappointed in himself.

“ _Please,_ Derek?” Derek turned a page in his book.

“I know you’re making that face, Stiles. This is one thing I’m not budging on.” Stiles sighed and flopped over onto Derek’s couch, tilting his head backwards over the arm to look at his boyfriend. The bastard was smirking.

“What the hell are you smirking for?” he asked. Derek looked over at him, amusement clear in his features.

“Oh no reason.” Stiles groaned. Then he glared.

“Why do you insist on being mysterious? Why can’t I know what the hell goes on in the future? I’ve already gathered that we’re together. It’s the only thing that made sense to cause you to act like you had some kind of concussion and ask me out.” Derek frowned at him. Stiles rolled his eyes. Derek stood, setting his book side and leaned over Stiles, putting his arms on either side of Stiles’ head.

All of a sudden, Stiles was really feeling like kissing Spiderman-style.

“I hate to break it to you, Stiles, but I had already started feeling that way towards you—before my trip,” he said, leaning down close to hover his face just over Stiles’. Stiles gulped.

“Uh…really?” he asked. It was the only thing he could manage with Derek’s face so close to his. The smirk returned to Derek’s face and he hummed in amusement. Stiles scowled.

“Hey, Buddy—“ he was cut off by Derek’s lips and okay Spiderman kisses weren’t exactly what they were cracked up to be, but he wasn’t mourning the lip-to-lip contact between he and Derek.

Stiles reached up and twisted his fingers in Derek’s hair, short as it was, as if trying to do the impossible and pull him closer. He could feel Derek smile against his mouth just before he detached their lips. Stiles whined and reached for him again. Derek chuckled at him.

“I’m thinking we should move this party to—“

“No, Stiles.” Stiles groaned.

“You didn’t even know what I was going to say!” he exclaimed. Derek smiled at him.

“Yes I did. You were going to suggest going upstairs to my room, just as you’ve been doing for the past month and a half.” Stiles propped himself up on his elbows.

“I still don’t get why we’re waiting when we end up being together in the future,” he muttered to himself. Derek only smirked. Stiles narrowed his eyes.

“You’re enjoying this,” he accused. Derek nodded.

“You from the future decided he wasn’t going to do anything with ‘a Derek who hadn’t made his move yet’. Now it’s my turn to frustrate you.” Stiles shook his head.

“You’re an evil, evil man, Hale.” Derek shrugged.

“You like me anyway, so what does that say about you?” he asked. Stiles held up a hand.

“Hey, I am the first to admit that I’m not the sanest guy in the world.” Stiles tilted his head. Derek dipped his head back down for another kiss. It had only gone on for about thirty seconds when Scott burst through the door with Kira, Malia and Lydia behind him.

Scott wrinkled his nose, backing up out of reflex, but Malia and Lydia shoved him forward. Stiles sat up, laying his arms on the back of the couch.

“No offense, Scotty ol’ pal, but what the hell are you three doing here?” Stiles asked nonchalantly. Scott reached up to scratch the back of his neck.

“Well…we’ve got a problem.” Stiles sighed.

“So…pack meeting then?” he asked. Scott nodded. Stiles frowned.

“Alright, but if this is a pack meeting, where are Cora, Danny and Parrish?”

“Parrish has work, Cora’s busy and Danny just wanted text updates,” Scott responded. Stiles sighed again, straightening and sitting so that there was enough room for Derek to sit down.

“Alright. What kind of supernatural mumbo jumbo is going on this time?” Lydia, Malia and Kira took seats while Scott took center-stage to explain the situation at length. Apparently, there was a group of witches nearby, aiming to ‘purify’ the land that was Beacon Hills.

“Purify?” Stiles asked, eyes narrow. Scott nodded.

“They want to rid Beacon Hills of its demons.” Stiles gave a brief puff of air that could’ve constituted as a laugh if his thoughts were filled of something other than the Nogitsune.

“And, Stiles…werewolves, kitsune and banshees are definitely on their list of demons.” Stiles thought.

“How do you know all of this, Scott?” he asked. Scott’s cheeks reddened and he looked at Kira. He scratched the back of his neck for the second time since entering Derek’s house.

“Well…I was talking to one of them. She seemed really suspicious and she was babbling to me about angels and demons and supernatural things in the grocery store, so I told her I was a hunter, like the Argents. She spilled all her plans after that.” Stiles’ lips quirked at the corner.

“And it probably helped that she thought you were ‘super cute’, right Scotty?” he asked. Scott shrugged, but didn’t deny it.

“Any idea where they might be? You know, so we can keep an eye out?” Scott gave Stiles a look. Stiles nodded. Right. Of course not.

“Well…Danny’s safe, tell Parrish and Cora to keep an eye out and we’ll all just have to lay low until they give up and leave, I guess.” Scott, Kira, Malia and Lydia stayed around for a while, but eventually three out of the four left. Only Malia stayed behind and it was only for a few minutes.

She explained that she was going to be leaving for a while—she didn’t know how long, but she was leaving. She had some things she wanted to do and promised that she _would_ actually come back.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asked, brow wrinkled with concern. Malia smiled.

“I’m fine, Stiles. There are just things I want to do and, high school is over, so…I just need to do this. Trust me, I’m fine and I’ll come back. Right?” Malias asked, turning to Derek. Derek nodded. Stiles threw up his hands.

“Oh sure, you’ll tell Malia, but you won’t tell me.” Derek crossed his arms and looked mightily pleased with himself. Malia laughed.

“Take care of yourselves, you two.” Stiles rolled his eyes.

“We’re not the ones lone-wolfing it alone on the road,” he responded. Malia shrugged and hugged them both before heading out the door without looking back. Stiles immediately turned to Derek.

“She _is_ going to be okay, right?” he asked. Derek nodded.

“I didn’t actually see her, but from what you told me…I would think she’s fine. She comes back, in any case.” Stiles narrowed his eyes.

“There’s more.”

“You’re an observant one.” Stiles scowled.

“Come on, tell me. How much can I affect Malia’s future by knowing this one little thing?” Derek shrugged.

“I don’t know—which is exactly why I’m not telling you.” Stiles thought for a moment.

“Fair point.” Derek snorted in amusement.

“It’s getting late, Stiles. You should go home now.” A sly smirk slid onto Stiles’ face.

“ _Or_ I could spend the night…” he suggested. Derek gave him an amused look and a peck on the lips.

“Home, Stiles.” Stiles rolled his eyes and nodded.

“Yeah, yeah, send the boyfriend home. I got it.” Derek gave him one last lingering kiss at the door before giving Stiles a gentle nudge in the direction of his car. Stiles slid into his jeep and drove off, cursing his future self.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he almost missed the person in the middle of the damn road, looking bedraggled and terrified. Stiles swore and swerved so he wouldn’t hit the girl—because after a second glance, it was obviously a girl—and got out of the jeep. He edged toward the girl slowly, as one might approach a frightened animal.

“Hey are you o—“

That was all he could say before something hit him with the force of a brick and darkness fell across his vision.

 

When Stiles came to, he still couldn’t see a thing.

All he could register was that, when he tried to move, ropes pulled at his wrists, torso, ankles and legs. Whoever had tied him up had been thorough.

“Aw, come on!” he exclaimed. He tried wiggling to free up enough space to slide through the ropes, to no avail. Then, he set to actually pawing at the ropes binding his wrists together in an attempt to free them. He’d just managed to land his fingers on the knot when the room suddenly brightened and all but blinded him.

“I see you’ve finally woken,” a strong, authoritative voice called out. Stiles swore internally as a pretty girl around Stiles’ age stepped into his line of vision. Stiles grinned.

“You know, sweetheart, my boyfriend would be very jealous to know you’ve got me tied up here. So, if you could just untie me…” he trailed off, raising his eyebrows for emphasis…though he didn’t actually expect the girl to untie him.

The girl’s eyes went narrow and she crossed her arms, holding her head high.

“We know all about your werewolf boyfriend. I would think he’d be slightly more than jealous,” she said. Stiles blinked, then stared at her like she was crazy.

“Werewolves? Are you insane? Werewolves don’t exist outside of folklore and the media.” The girl gave him a long look.

“Seriously, what are you on?”

“We know all about you and your little pack, Stiles Stilinski.”

Well, crap. She was going to be one of _those_ supernatural baddies. The kind that consisted of stalkers who watched every move of anyone remotely suspicious in order to achieve their goals. Stiles said nothing.

“Kira Yukimura…kitsune. Lydia Martin…banshee. Jordan Parrish…hellhound. Malia Tate…werecoyote. Cora Hale, Scott McCall and Derek Hale…werewolves.” Stiles’ expression didn’t change. That girl who’d talked to Scott…had she known about him then? And if she did, why would she have told him anything about her group?

“Then, there are the cases of yourself, Mr. Stilinski and Danny Mahealani. Humans, wrapped up in the mess of a pack of demons.” Stiles stayed quiet, trying to get at the tie on his wrist without moving too much.

“Dating a demon, befriending a demon, while knowing about its true nature…makes you almost as bad as the creature itself.” Stiles was sick of hearing her talk already.

“The Mahealani boy will be forgiven. He was only brought into this when the demons began to infest Beacon Hills.” Stiles’ fingers caught on the knot again and he stilled, adjusting his body position as much as he could, making sure to whine about how uncomfortable the ropes were. The girl ignored him.

“You, on the other hand…are bait.” Stiles had figured as much. Unless they were going to kill him, there wasn’t much use in kidnapping him. After all, he was one of the two token humans in the pack. What could they possibly hope to gain, apart from the lure for Derek and Scott? Nothing.

Well, unless they wanted knowledge, or fun facts about Batman or circumcision.

“And you’re still a total nutjob.” Stiles practically broke his wrist by managing to get part of the knot undone. Had these people been trained by the military? Stiles gave his hand a break, trying to think of what exactly he could do _after_ getting his wrists free, without alerting the girl. He slumped backwards.

“So, while we’re waiting for people who are never going to show up, because they’re not _werewolves,_ why don’t you tell me your name? How about a little game of twenty questions?” He threw in an eye-roll and a laugh. The girl scowled.

“If you _must_ know, my name is Olivia Lorell and I am the Grand High Priestess of this coven.” Stiles raised his eyebrows.

“Like witches?” he asked, as if he didn’t already know. Olivia pursed her lips.

“You may continue playing the fool if you wish, boy, but you and I both know that you are smarter than that. We both know that you already have an idea as to why you are here.” She gave him an amused look.

“And we both already know that you’ve been trying to untie yourself for the past five or so minutes.” Stiles stilled. He sat up straight and glared at her.

“Fine. Why am I here?” he asked.

“Aside from the obvious.”

The witch smiled, linking her hands behind her back.

“Well, I’ve already told you that I plan to use you for bait. I’m also certain that you know of my speaking with McCall about my coven’s plans.” Stiles narrowed his eyes at her.

“I could’ve taken any old pack member with the same results. You, Mr. Stilinski, are special.” Stiles said nothing as she slowly began to pace back and forth. Ah, the Bond moment was coming—the big reveal of all their plans before, hopefully, one of the heroes burst in to save the day. It wasn’t looking like Stiles was going to be that hero, with how tied up he was.

“Any of you would have brought at least some members of your little group running in to save the day. You, Mr. Stilinski, would provide the most variety.” Olivia’s lips twitched into a smirk.

“Best friend of the alpha…boyfriend of Derek Hale. Beloved friend of Lydia Martin, Malia Tate and Kira Yukimura. Sheriff’s son. Even the Mahealani boy has a soft spot for you. Most, if not all, of those people would come charging in to rescue you. The most likely, however…are also the biggest threats.” Olivia stopped pacing and leaned down right in front of Stiles’ face, to ensure her little villain monologue had the desired effect.

“If we eliminate the alpha and Derek Hale, who may as well be _the_ alpha…the others will easily be cut down. The Yukimura girl could prove to be a problem, particularly when her…partner…has been taken down, but I have no doubt that my brothers and sisters can handle her.” Olivia smiled.

“And then…all that will remain…will be you and Mahealani. The boy will go free. But what will become of you, Mr. Stilinski? Have you any idea why we might leave you alive?” she asked, suddenly taking on a tone of voice reminiscent of school teachers.

“Why do you talk like you’re living in the eighteen hundreds? You’re barely any older than I am. Honestly, I wasn’t aware that you were born in sixteen-oh-eight.” Olivia stood up again, choosing to ignore his questions.

“You aren’t just special because of your connections to Hale, McCall and the others…you have knowledge, Stiles….and researching skills that would come quite in handy in our mission of purification. You are the glue, the _heart,_ of your group. You would be an excellent addition to our team.” Stiles tilted his head back to look up at her with an unamused expression.

“What makes you think I would ever join you? Even if it meant my life being spared—when all my friends are dead?” Olivia smirked.

“We are witches, Stiles. And I am one of the twelve most powerful witches in the entire witch community. Do you honestly think we don’t have spells…charms, or potions that would make you forget everything?” Stiles stilled. Olivia’s smirk grew into a grin.

“One particular spell I have in mind…can allow me to use my mind and travel through your memories, obliterating each one I deem unnecessary. Forget meeting Scott McCall. Forget all of the others…forget that Derek Hale and the rest even _exist.”_

Stiles felt dread settle in his stomach, despite his confidence that Derek, Scott and the others would be able to defeat the coven. He couldn’t imagine what his life would’ve been like if he had never met Scott or Derek or Lydia or any of the others.

“And if we don’t get any of the pack over here in the next oh…twenty-four hours, we’ll take you anyway. Then we’ll set you after your little friends and watch the horror on their faces when they realize you haven’t the faintest idea who they are.” Olivia laughed loudly in delight. She walked behind Stiles, presumably where the door was.

“Oh…and good luck getting out of your ropes, Mr. Stilinski,” were her parting words. The minute she was gone, Stiles started working at the knots again, swearing profusely as he did.

“Damn it. This would be one of those times when werewolves would be _real_ handy,” he muttered to himself. Stiles paused for a moment to think. The others would probably notice he was missing in the next day or so, could probably find the jeep and catch a scent. That was a big ‘if’, though.

‘If’ the witches hadn’t hid the jeep.

In any case, Stiles would rather not have anyone charging in to save the day. From what he’d read, covens consisted of twelve witches, with a thirteenth member who was the leader. Twelve witches. Malia was gone, Danny and Cora were usually too busy to really do anything with the pack. Parrish had work. That left Derek, Scott, Kira and Lydia. Four to twelve, if Olivia didn’t join in on the fighting.

And Stiles was fairly certain that none of them had listened when he’d gone on a long rant about magic and its users. They would be unprepared and, even with their overall badassery, Stiles wasn’t entirely sure they could take on three witches each—again, if Olivia didn’t participate. Then they would have to get through Olivia.

Stiles calculated roughly how much time he had before the pack noticed he was missing, if they got all the clues and somehow managed to figure out where the witches were. It had been late at night when he’d left Derek’s and gotten conked out trying to help that girl in the road, so it was probably early morning.

Everyone was likely still asleep. Stiles groaned. It was the middle of July and college wasn’t for another month and a half, generally…so summer was normally spent sleeping in—at least for Derek, Kira and Lydia. There was a chance Derek would be awake, despite the late night and the fact that he’d been sleeping in a little later than normal.

Stiles chewed his bottom lip in thought. Derek had taken to waking Stiles up around nine in the morning so they could hang out…he’d call probably three times before actually getting worried, spaced out over a couple hours, to give Stiles enough space and time to wake up.

The last call would come through about noon…then there would be calls to Scott and the sheriff, who had been on a case overnight and—even if he did go home—would likely assume Stiles was crashing at Scott’s or Derek’s.

Then, there would be the running around town, trying to find any trace of Stiles ‘Where’s Waldo’ style and…Stiles let his head fall to his chest, wriggling and tugging at his ties with renewed vigor.

Basically, if he didn’t get out of this mess himself, he was screwed.

After what felt like an hour, he got the second stage of ties on his wrist undone. He wiggled his wrists in the hope that the last knot would just fall free. Suffice to say, it didn’t turn out that way. And there was no telling if or when Olivia or one of her coven members would come through the door and spot his weakened—or absent—ties and re-rope him.

Another hour and Stiles’ hands were free, though his shoulders and stomach were still tied to the chair. He didn’t have time to pause, so he reached up, bending his hand at nearly impossible angles, to grab onto the major tie. He swore when he realized it was exactly the same as the one that had been on his wrist—difficult as hell.

He could’ve tried breaking the chair, bending over so that the chair was in the air and trying to ram it against the wall, but there were several different problems with that idea. The first was the noise it would make—after all, Stiles had no idea how close or far any of the witches were. For all he knew, Olivia was stationed outside his door.

The second issue was the fact that the walls and beams in the room didn’t look all that steady and seemed ready to collapse on him in an instant, which could cause his death, or a concussion—neither of which would help his situation, or the pack’s.

Stiles gritted his teeth and snatched at the knot. He was glad he’d gotten his wrists free. The knots were still nearly as unyielding as steel, but it was easier now that he wasn’t trying to flip his hand backwards to edge the knots free.

It took a long, immeasurable amount of time for Stiles to finally free his upper body, his mind about as focused as it ever really got. He took no time to relish in the freedom, didn’t stretch, and immediately bent over in half to get at the ropes around his legs.

“Come on, come _on_ ,” he whispered to himself.

The more he worked at the ties, the easier it was to get himself free. It also helped that he could actually _see_ the knots and how they worked, this time around. Stiles worked as fast as he could, constantly aware of the fact that any of the witches could walk in at any moment and tie him back up, destroying all his hard work.

Stiles broke free of the ties on his legs and eagerly turned to the ones surrounding his ankles, eyeing spots around the room for weapons, hiding spaces or anything that was generally useful for his escape, once he got rid of the ankle ties.

There were a few prime hiding spots, though any of them would be found by the witches. He would, however, have the element of surprise on his side. He didn’t see any weapons, but then again he didn’t necessarily expect there to be any.

Finally, mercifully, Stiles kicked free of the restraints on his ankles and shuffled over to the door, making the least amount of noise possible. Werewolf hearing would’ve been useful, but even as a human…well, he could still hear _some_ noise.

He decided not to try the doorknob, in case it was locked or there was someone waiting outside…or both. Instead, he crept over to one of the hiding spaces, took a deep breath and folded himself to fit inside. It gave him just enough room to spring at whoever opened the door to his little cabinet.

Stiles had no idea how long he hid in that stupid cabinet, but eventually someone returned to the room, pausing to take in the chair and ropes in the middle of the room. He curled one hand into a fist, the other prepared to grab onto whoever opened the door.

Immediately, it was made clear that whoever it was, was not Derek or any of the others. They went around the room opening every hiding space at lightning speed, as if to catch Stiles off guard. The noise got louder as it got closer and Stiles prepared himself.

The second his door was opened, Stiles launched himself out of the space, slamming his fist into the side of the person’s head and shoving them backwards.

The guy scrambled to get to his feet, but Stiles had the upper hand—he was prepared and he knocked the guy’s head into the desk, knocking him unconscious. After waiting a few moments to make sure that no one had been alerted by the scuffle, Stiles searched the guy for weapons or anything that was useful.

There was not a damned thing on the guy. Stiles internally swore and edged closer to the door, eyes roving all over to look for any more witches. Apparently he’d been locked up in the basement, because there was a short hallway, with no doors and a stairway at the end that led up to a trapdoor.

Stiles didn’t like that. He had no idea what was on the other side of that door. He desperately looked for any sort of weapon. Even a wooden board would have been better than nothing.

Sighing, Stiles drifted up the steps, mentally preparing himself for whatever was on the other side of the trapdoor. He took a moment…then, he shoved the door upwards, pulling himself up and through the opening and scrambling to his feet. There were seven startled people sitting in what appeared to be the living room. Stiles made a break for the door and almost made it when one of the witches tackled him.

He landed on his back with a grunt, bringing his arms up to protect his face, elbows getting in the way of his attacker’s blows. Stiles gripped the guy’s forearms and lifted his knee to land a shot right to the guy’s dick. The guy fell aside with a loud groan, cupping his privates and Stiles shot to his feet.

In the tussle with the guy who was near tears, two of the girls—twins, from the looks of things—had darted forward to try and take Stiles down. Stiles looked to his left and found a fireplace with a little ledge. There was a picture frame and Stiles grabbed it, smashing it into the side of the first girl’s head. She screamed and clutched her forehead, now dripping with blood.

The second twin, outraged at what Stiles had done to her sister, dove forward, hands latching around Stiles’ throat. He lifted the picture frame again and smashed it into her head repeatedly until she let go. The remaining four people—evenly split between men and women—rushed Stiles as he reached behind him for the doorknob. He fumbled, but managed to swing it open just as the four witches dug their fingers into different parts of his body, trying to pull him back into the house.

The picture frame had fallen somewhere between Stiles reaching for the doorknob and the witches reaching for _him_. Freedom was so close. Stiles lashed out, wiggling as much as possible to loosen the witches’ grips on him.

“Why do we want him again?” one of the girls shouted.

“Shut up! Olivia wants him and she’s in charge.” Stiles got one of his legs free and kicked at the nearest body part, landing a decent kick to one of the witches’ faces. One of the girls shrieked and backed away, cupping her nose.

Stiles felt a sense of satisfaction at the kick that had resulted in a bloody—likely broken—nose.

“Ashley!”

The girl Stiles had kicked, glared hatefully at him and charged forward.

“No! Olivia said no!” The girl, Ashley, punched Stiles square in the face. He would probably have a black eye when he got out of there. Ashley opened the trapdoor and Stiles squirmed.

“No!” he shouted. Meanwhile, the twins and the guy that had rushed him before were standing and stomping over to the group.

“Let me go, damn it!” Stiles shouted uselessly. Stiles felt the grips on him loosen slightly and went nuts, kicking and punching and biting and scratching at any piece of human he could find in the daze.

There was a confused shouting, with some of the witches toppling down the stairs into the basement because of how hard the fighting was, but Stiles eventually dropped onto the top step and swiped at his attackers’ legs all while trying not to get his own captured by the witches below him.

One more junk punch and two stomach hits later, he was lifting himself back into the living room and darting towards the door….just as Olivia stepped through. He swore, even as he dashed forward, tackling her to the ground.

He didn’t stop there, immediately getting to his feet and all but sprinting down the street, breath coming out in harsh puffs of breath. He tried not to look back, worried about breaking his leg or something.

He didn’t have to worry.

Apparently the witches weren’t about to start something in broad daylight, in the middle of town, because Stiles got there with no one tailing him. Stiles took the opportunity to bend over, hands on his knees, and catch his breath, making sure to keep an eye out just in case the witches actually _had_ come after him.

Stiles patted his pockets for his cell phone, amazed to find it in the pocket of his jacket. He checked the time. He’d made his escape at about three-thirty, give or take, taking the fight into account. He dialed Derek, breath still not quite returned to him.

“Stiles?” Derek answered on the first ring, tone full of worry.

“Hey…Derek…” Stiles puffed out.

“Stiles are you okay?” Stiles nodded, despite Derek’s inability to see him.

“Need you…to come…pick me…up. Got loads…to tell you…and pack…” Stiles wheezed.

“Where are you?” Stiles relayed his location and heeded Derek’s instructions to wait.

Derek probably broke some traffic rules, because he was there in about five minutes flat. Stiles got in.

“What the hell happened to you?” Derek asked. Stiles looked down at himself, remembering the number of fights he’d gotten in that day. He sighed.

“I’m really not an active guy,” he murmured, leaning his head back against the seat.

“Is Scott at your place?” Derek nodded.

“And Kira and Lydia,” he said. Stiles nodded.

“Good, good.” Derek kept throwing him worried glances, but stayed silent until they got back to his house. Stiles suspected this was only because he didn’t have any supplies to help Stiles’ wounds.

They walked through the door, Derek immediately demanding that Stiles sit down.

“What happened?” Scott asked, eyes widening.

“Hey, I am the epitome of gorgeous, okay?” Stiles joked. Scott kept staring at him. Stiles sighed, waiting for Derek to come back into the living room, despite the fact that he didn’t need to be in the room to hear what had happened. He held out an icepack, removing Stiles’ jacket and checking his arms and legs for any cuts.

“Relax, Sourwolf. I’m fine,” he said. Derek glared at him.

“You were huffing and puffing on the phone and when I came to get you, your clothes and hair were disheveled and you looked like you’d gone a round with a concrete wall.” Stiles winced.

“Okay, fair enough. Sit down and listen up, kiddies.”

He quickly relayed the events as they had happened, starting with that girl in the road and waking up in a pitch black room up to the point where he called Derek to come get him. Derek started growling about halfway through the story, all set to go wolf-mode and attack.

Stiles put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. The growling stopped, though his scowl didn’t alleviate. Scott kept staring. Kira looked at him and Lydia’s eyes narrowed in thought.

“Anyone have any idea how we’re going to handle this? She wants to take the whole pack down and take my memories away so I can work for them,” Stiles insisted.

Lydia tossed her hair back.

“I’ve got an idea…I’ll talk to some people and get back to you. For now, it’d probably be better if you stayed somewhere safe.”

Stiles could barely get a nod out before Derek spoke.

“You’re staying here.” Stiles looked at Derek kneeling on the floor in front of Stiles. Scott, Kira and Lydia took this as their cue to leave.

“What?”

“You’re staying here. It’s safe here, you’ll have someone else to help look out for the witches and I…you’re my boyfriend, not to mention pack. By definition, it’s my job to help protect you.” Stiles smiled and ran his fingers through Derek’s hair.

“I doubt you’d be able to spot the witches, considering you’ve never seen any of them, but it’s nice that you’re trying. Besides, how are you going to help save little old defenseless me when you have no guest rooms and your bedroom is upstairs?” Stiles asked, slightly amused.

“You’re not defenseless, Stiles. You and I both know it. I doubt you could’ve gotten away from them if you were a weakling.” Derek stood and started walking towards the kitchen.

“Besides, I wouldn’t be that far from you. You’d be staying in my room—in my bed.” Stiles whipped his head around to stare at Derek’s back.

“What?” Derek turned and Stiles saw the lightest glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Derek leaned against one of the kitchen counters, the corner of his lips twitching upwards in a half-smirk.

“You heard me. Unless you have a problem with that and would rather duke it out down here with a baseball bat,” he said. Well, Stiles wasn’t going to object to that. He cleared his throat.

“Nah, I’m good.” He heard his asshole of a boyfriend chuckle before rummaging through the fridge. Stiles sat up straighter.

“Does this mean--?”

“No sex, Stiles.” Stiles slumped back into the couch. Then he remembered that this didn’t necessarily mean ‘no cuddling’. Honestly, Stiles would be all in for cuddling.

He was looking forward to going to sleep that night, and not just because of his bruised body.

When, later that night, Derek stood and announced that he was going to sleep, Stiles leapt right up, much to Derek’s obvious amusement. Derek shook his head but led up the stairs to his bedroom, the one room in the entire place that Stiles had yet to enter, due to the fact that Stiles was saying ‘green light means go’ and Derek was saying that the stoplight was stuck on red until they were together longer—no need to rush.

Derek went into the bathroom attached to his room to get ready. Stiles, who had nothing with him, only had to pick a side of the bed and climb on in. He’d just finished scooting down beneath the sheets to get comfortable when Derek opened the bathroom door in nothing but boxers.

Stiles shielded his eyes as Derek climbed in beside him.

“Stiles, what are you doing?”

“I’ve been blinded. I looked at the sun and now I’m paying the price.” Stiles could practically _hear_ Derek’s frown. He peeked through his fingers.

“The hell are you talking about?” Derek asked. Stiles grinned.

“You’re about to kill how awesome that just was by making me explain it. But the sun—you know, it’s really hot and bright and you…you’re really hot and bright.” Derek stared at him for a few long moments before shaking his head and pulling the covers up.

“You’re lucky I like you, Stilinski.” Stiles laughed.

“Go to sleep. Aren’t you tired?” Stiles smirked and Derek groaned, though he was smiling as well.

“How can I feel exhaustion hitting my body scarred by battle when my incredibly attractive, Sourwolf of a boyfriend is laying right next to me—half-naked, no less,” Stiles teased, jabbing Derek’s shoulder. Derek closed his eyes.

“Keep it up, and you’ll never get laid.” Stiles held up his pointer finger, though Derek couldn’t see him.

“I call bullshit!” Derek opened his eyes again, lips twisting into a smile.

“I’ve seen you eyeing me from time to time, Hale. Don’t think I haven’t!”

“You’re ridiculous. Now go to sleep.” Stiles grinned. Derek looked back at him with a look filled with so much…fondness that Stiles was almost tempted to revert back to the first month of their relationship and check to make sure Derek wasn't concussed or something.

Stiles, being Stiles, went on to ramble about a list of things he hadn’t even really been aware that he knew about. After a few moments, Derek clapped a hand over Stiles’ mouth and rolled over so that he would be on top of Stiles. Stiles’ eyes widened, though his mouth kept moving a mile a minute.

Derek shut him up with a kiss, gentle and lingering. When he pulled back, he was smiling like a complete idiot.

“Go. To. Sleep.”

Stiles saluted him.

“Sir, yes, sir.” Derek rolled off of Stiles and shut his eyes. Stiles waited a few moments…then lifted Derek’s arm.

“Stiles, what the hell—“ Derek cut himself off when Stiles tucked himself close to Derek’s body, replacing Derek’s arm so that it looped over Stiles’ back. Stiles shut his eyes, refusing to look at whatever expression Derek was sporting.

“Goodnight, Derek.” For a long moment, there was silence.

Then, Derek pulled Stiles even closer and rested his head right next to Stiles’, their noses grazing each other.

“Goodnight Stiles,” he murmured softly.

 

Stiles woke up feeling very warm and very safe. Sometime during the night, he and Derek had huddled closer so that they were essentially hugging, with their heads buried in each other’s necks.

Stiles carefully removed his head from Derek’s neck, not wanting to wake him up. He started looking for ways to detach himself from Derek without waking him, but was distracted. Light filtered in and across Derek’s face, illuminating his younger-looking features. Stiles took a minute just to take in how gorgeous Derek actually was.

He would die if Derek opened his eyes just then. Those things were killer in normal lighting. How would they look with sunlight to make them glow—and not in a supernatural way?

Stiles slowly started to remove his arms and scoot away from Derek. His plan was foiled when the sleeping Derek inhaled and once again trapped Stiles against his body, burrowing his nose into Stiles’ neck.

“Mm…Stiles?” Derek murmured, voice laden with sleep. Stiles felt his face go red. Somehow, that voice was both hot and adorable and Stiles really couldn’t deal with this right now and…there were the eyes. Half-lidded and barely aware, Stiles very nearly stopped breathing at the light that made the strange color glow brilliantly. Combine that with the voice and that Derek’s hair was adorably ruffled and Stiles needed to escape, like, yesterday morning.

“Shush…this is all a dream…” Stiles said, again trying to creep away. Derek eyed the fabric of Stiles’ shirt as if it had personally offended him, and he plucked at it.

“No it’s not,” he said, squinting. Stiles didn’t even want to attempt to figure out what that meant until he was a safe distance away from sleep-rumpled Derek. Fortunately, Derek released Stiles to sit up. Not so fortunately, Stiles was treated to the muscles of Derek’s back contracting and rolling under his skin, tattoo looking better than ever.

Before Stiles could make his escape, Derek casually leaned over and pressed a kiss to his lips, chaste and sweet. Then he shuffled over to the bathroom, leaving Stiles in a distressed heap on the bed.

It was too damn early in the morning to be dealing with this.

Stiles left the bedroom, hoping that Derek would be more…awake, by the time he left the bathroom. Stiles started making breakfast, eyeing a clock that told him it as about ten in the morning. How many people did Lydia have to talk to in order to launch this plan of hers, anyway?

In the middle of making breakfast, Derek appeared, in a towel, with droplets of water that he’d missed barreling their way down his skin. He froze, a second towel held up to his head, when he saw Stiles. Stiles groaned.

“Okay, Mr. Muscle Man. We get it, you’re a handsome guy. Go put some damn clothes on, holy crap,” Stiles pleaded. Derek unfroze and toweled his hair before throwing it over one shoulder.

“It’s my house.” Stiles tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling, as if he would get help that way.

“Please, Derek. For my sanity, and the sanity of men and women everywhere. _Please,_ for the love of all that is _good_ in this _world,_ go get dressed!” he exclaimed. Derek smirked at him.

“Why? Did you stare into the sun again?” he teased. Stiles held up the spatula he was using.

“I am not above using this kitchen utensil to kill you.” Derek snorted.

“A—I doubt you could lodge that in any part of my body hard or deep enough to have any kind of damaging effect—“

That sentence was filled with innuendo. Stiles didn’t even need to _try_ to make a joke out of it.

“—and B—you wouldn’t kill me. For some odd reason, you like me too much,” Derek finished with a smile. Stiles rolled his eyes and waved the spatula menacingly.

“Lucky for _you,_ Mr. Hale, or you would have already been spatula-ed to death.” Derek wrinkled his nose in a frown.

“That isn’t even a word, Stiles.”

“Sure it is, it’s right there in the Stiles dictionary, right under spasta, just before tranium.” Derek stared at him for a few long moments before shaking his head and holding his hands up.

“I’m not even going to ask.”

“It’s better that you don’t.”

Stiles felt his pocket vibrating and picked up for Lydia.

“Stiles, do you remember where the witch hideout was?” Stiles thought to the streets he’d been running past, trying to get any sense of familiarity from the buildings that had been blurred in his vision. He rattled off a series of instructions and a vague idea of where the hideout was.

“But that doesn’t necessarily mean they stayed there,” he added.

“They could’ve figured I was going to tell you and split so they could have the upper hand.” Lydia took this into consideration.

“True, but I don’t think they did. They wanted a shot to take all of us down, told Scott there was a witchy group running around Beacon Hills and took you for bait. They want to be found and they want to be found soon. Now, how many did you say were in a coven?” Stiles rolled his eyes skyward. He’d known none of them had been listening to his magic rant.

“Thirteen, including the leader, who is supposed to be like a witch on magic steroids.” Derek quirked an eyebrow at him for that.

“So, what do you need Derek and I to do, Boss?” Stiles asked.

“Nothing. You and Derek just stay inside and play house all day. Kira, Scott and I have this under control.” Stiles frowned.

“Are you sure? Because—“

He couldn’t finish the sentence, because Lydia had already hung up. Stiles held the phone away from him, staring at it as he absentmindedly placed a plate in front of Derek. Stiles looked over at Derek.

“You hear all that?”

Derek nodded.

“You agree that it was kind of weird?”

He nodded again.

Stiles sighed, grabbing his own plate of food, stabbing at the eggs while he thought.

“Don’t break the plate,” Derek murmured. Stiles ignored him. Lydia had a plan to take down thirteen witches without the aid of as many pack members as could be spared? Fishy. Stiles didn’t trust it, even if he _did_ trust Lydia.

“You got any ideas for what they’re planning and how we can help?” Stiles finally asked. Derek shook his head, taking a bite of a piece of bacon.

“All I can think of is that, if Lydia is telling the two of us to stay cooped up in the house; the plan likely involves us as bait and staying oblivious until the plan can actually be carried out.” Stiles pointed his fork at Derek.

“I knew I liked you for a reason.” Derek rolled his eyes.

Stiles could see what plan Lydia was going with, and it was pretty good—though, of course, they _were_ talking about Lydia. Of course her plan would be good.

Ambush.

Lydia was counting on the idea that the witches would come after Stiles and Derek, tempted by the addition of Stiles to their coven—though Stiles wondered if someone would have to be booted out for him to become an actual member—and the chance to take down one of the more powerful ‘demons’ in the Beacon Hills pack.

Even if they didn’t get all of the witches, some would probably be caught and they could use them to lure the others in. In any case, however many witches showed up; Lydia, Scott and Kira would follow from a distance or be stationed somewhere they could see the intruders and come after them from the outside while Derek and Stiles fought from the inside.

Hopefully, it worked. Stiles wasn’t really worried about the coven members, though just because they hadn’t used magic on Stiles didn’t mean they wouldn’t hesitate to use it against Derek or any of the others. What he was really worried about was Olivia. She was a powerful witch and seemed more…threatening…than the others. She was the main villain and the others were little more than her magic groupies.

So, Derek and Stiles lazed about the house, watching the TV while curled up together—though not so entangled that they wouldn’t be able to jump into action at a moment’s notice.

 

Lydia was not a woman to be doubted.

Around ten that night, Derek whispered to Stiles that he heard many different sets of footsteps entering the house. Stiles mock-nuzzled Derek’s neck, putting his ear close to Derek’s mouth. Derek started a countdown.

Three…

Two…

 

One.

Stiles and Derek jumped up from the couch and charged forward just as some familiar forms burst into the living room. Derek reached them first, tossing them into walls with an ease that told Stiles Derek had been itching to fight them for a while…probably since Stiles had told him about what had happened on his little kidnapping adventure.

Stiles had to ignore Derek’s exertion of strength to handle his own battles. The Terrible Twins had returned, one with a jacked-up nose that was doubtlessly his fault. The girls just seemed glad to get a second chance to start the punching game again.

In between punches and kicks, Stiles let his eyes flicker over the room to get a head-count. There were more than had been in the living room. The one he’d knocked unconscious was clinging to Derek’s back like some kind of monkey. Stiles had only seen that move in the movies. There were definitely more than Stiles had encountered back at the hideout.

However, there were three witches missing, one of whom was Olivia. If Stiles had to take a wild guess as to who the other two witches; he would guess that they would be Olivia’s second-and-third-in-command—or something like that.

Kira came in and started attacking. Stiles socked one of the twins in the mouth.

“Stiles! Scott and Lydia—outside, Olivia!” Kira shouted. Stiles got the message. Scott and Lydia were fighting Olivia outside.

“Two more—missing!” Stiles shouted back as one of the twins swung at him.

Kira relayed to him, through their minimal sentences, that they were also outside, hopefully getting their asses kicked by Scott and Lydia. Kira and Derek quickly knocked their opponents unconscious. With one last punch, Stiles sent the twins off to Lullaby Land.

“I’ve got them,” Kira said.

“Go help Scott and Lydia.”

Derek and Stiles rushed outside, pausing only to register where the fight was going on. Lydia was taking on one of Olivia’s closest coven members. Scott was fighting the other and clearly trying to pick a fight with Olivia, but every time he swiped out at her, the guy who was at her side kept lunging in front of her and attacking Scott with magic.

Olivia smiled in a way that chilled Stiles to the bone. It was a cruel smile—a smile that said she knew she was causing tragedy, havoc and carnage and was having as much fun as the average person would have at an amusement park.

Derek tackled her from behind, smashing her face into the ground. Olivia somehow managed to roll over onto her back, smiling that eerie smile…and suddenly, Derek was flying off of her, back fifty feet.

“Derek!” Stiles shouted. Derek wasn’t standing up. He turned back to Olivia, who got to her feet, dusting the grass off her arms.

“I must say, I did not foresee your little friends having the ability to fight, Mr. Stilinski. Nor did I foresee that it would come down to you against me. I must say, I think I am a shoe-in.” Stiles stood up straighter and glared at her.

“I’m not much of a gambler, Olivia, but I have to say—even if I did lose which, by all means, is the likely outcome; I would bet everything I own that my ‘little friends’ would come after you and rip your throat out.” He paused for a beat, giving her a quick smirk as he added the next bit.

“With their teeth.”

Olivia looked completely unconcerned.

“What makes you think I have not considered this? Even if my entire coven falls to ash around me, I will still stand. It has been done before and if it should happen again…well, so be it.” Stiles narrowed his eyes at her.

“It’s happened before?” he asked. Olivia smiled serenely, nodding her head.

“You were not quite off the mark with your commentary on my language, Mr. Stilinski. Would you care for a history lesson?” she asked. Stiles said nothing, but she went on anyway. Scott and Lydia fought on. Derek remained unmoving.

“I was born in fifteen-seventy-five, in Germany. I won’t go into too much detail, but my father was a witch. My mother, who’d been abandoned by him, had no idea what to make of me…a special little child with special little powers. When I was six years of age, the Witch Trials of Trier began. I saw dozens of people just like me…killed for daring to be special.” Olivia paused, not glancing behind her when she heard a grunt of pain.

“I was eighteen by the end of it. Miraculously, I…and some others…were spared the fate of our brothers and sisters. Together, the survivors banded together and hid away. I found a spell…potion…that I could create to keep me alive forever—immortality. I cared not for youth. I wanted knowledge and I wanted power. And I got it. The fools who were with me died off, refusing to save their own lives.” Olivia’s smile widened.

“When America was founded, I traveled over and found a new group of disciples. Over and over again, they failed to see things my way and died off or failed to please me…failed to obey my orders…failed _me._ ” Olivia’s eyelids lowered and she grinned, displaying a full set of teeth…a display all too disturbing.

“No century has been as satisfying as this one. All of those you see here? They crave immortality so desperately they would trade their very sense of morality for it. They do anything I ask. If it should end in death? They all knew what they were signing up for.” Olivia linked her hands behind her back and tilted her head, looking for all the world a pretty, ordinary girl. Stiles frowned.

“Okay, big deal. You’ve killed people in your search for knowledge and power, also known as villain goals numbers one and two. That doesn’t explain why you’re spouting this crap about ridding Beacon Hills of its demons…or why we should be afraid of you.”

Maybe if she revealed more of her history, of what made her powerful, Stiles could find a way to take her down without getting blasted like Derek had.

Olivia laughed.

“You wish to discuss this in the middle of a battlefield?” she asked, amusement lacing her tone. Stiles gestured towards her.

“You started it. Now finish it.” Olivia’s smile thinned slightly. Clearly, she didn’t like being ordered around.

“Fine.” That one word was packed with so much ice, Stiles might as well have been fighting Elsa.

“I tell you the story of ridding Beacon Hills of its demons for no other reason than that it is the truth. My people were decimated in witch trials all over the world. Now there are precious few of us left. They did it to cover their foolish and petty affairs—sexual or otherwise—and they used the excuse that it was God’s will.” Olivia’s face twisted into a grotesque grimace.

“When the real demons were lounging around the woods at night! Werewolves tore townspeople to shreds and kitsune tore into spleens and innards to get at the heart! Banshees could foretell death, but did they say a single word about the witches or townspeople being slaughtered? No!” Wind kicked up around her and her eyes glowed with a manic light.

“Those beasts you consort with under the magic of the moonlight— _they are the true monsters!” s_ he spat, voice rising to nearly a scream. Olivia took a deep breath and the wind settled, eyes closing. When they opened again, she almost looked normal. Stiles, however, could see the rage lying just beneath the surface.

“As for why you should fear us…” she trailed off, holding her arms out from her body.

“The fools inside are little more than cannon fodder. Any of them could be beaten with a single flick of the wrist. They are still far too reluctant to use magic…too removed from the power that their ancestors possessed.” She brought her hands to her hips and held her head high.

“The two you see fighting before you are my very own children, born in the sixteen hundreds. Their father was nearly as powerful as me, you see…and I wanted children of powerful blood. I’ve had children before them, and after…but they all failed to please me as well.” Olivia’s smile grew lethal.

“And, of course, you should fear me because I know secrets and tricks that no witch alive or dead would dare use for fear of what others might say…of what the idiotic council might do. I am more powerful than any witch I have encountered and what you just saw, with the wind? Why, my dear boy, that was just a parlor trick.” Her voice was dripping with venom by the time she was finished with her little speech.

Well, how informative. Damn it, that hadn’t been helpful at all.

The only thing to do…was to distract her long enough for Scott and Lydia to finish up with Olivia’s kids so they could turn on Olivia. Stiles squared his shoulders and made a ‘come on’ gesture.

“Well, Granny. Come on, let’s see who comes out of this—you or me.” Olivia laughed and Stiles could have sworn he’d just stepped into a Disney movie with that witch cackle.

“Foolish boy! Shall I kill you quick? Or shall I kill you slow, twist at your innards until they burst from pressure? Oh whatever shall I do?” Had she knocked some screws loose in her head?

Olivia extended her hands, fingers set wide from each other, fingertips pointing in Stiles’ direction menacingly. Well, if he had to die…he was going to die standing on his feet. Stiles charged as Olivia cast whatever spell she’d had in mind and barely had time to register her shocked expression before he tackled her to the ground.

“What?” she screeched.

“You can’t! It’s not possible! Not fair, not fair, not fair!” Olivia scratched at Stiles’ face. He head-butted her. Olivia shoved him off of her and got to her feet. Stiles stood a few feet away. Olivia’s gaze seemed to burn into his skin.

“How did you…there’s no…” Olivia’s eyes narrowed.

“You have the blessings of the faeries upon you, boy,” she spat. Stiles frowned at her, but asked no questions. Did having a gift from the faeries mean he was safe from her magic or something? That couldn’t be it—Derek had been thrown back when she’d gotten her witchy fingers on _him._ Curiosity got the better of him.

“The hell are you talking about?” he shouted against the wind that had suddenly kicked up again. Damn Olivia and her moody magic.

“You have a gift from one of the faeries! As long as said gift is still unused, or has not yet reached its capacity, the blessing will defend you against most, if not all supernatural danger.” She said it more to herself, but Stiles got it. Derek hadn’t been protected because his gift had already expired, or whatever. He’d already gone to the future. Stiles’ gift wasn’t even really a thought in his mind at this point.

Stiles was rejoicing in the fact that he didn’t have to battle a power-hungry psychopath with deadly magical powers when suddenly, something glinted at him in the darkness.

A switchblade.

_Damn it,_ couldn’t he catch a freaking _break?_ He’d had enough of all this running around and fighting and magical powers. He was done. H wasn’t athletic and he was still exhausted and bruised from his run-in with these assholes the day before.

He didn’t have a weapon, but life had taught him that he didn’t always need one. He edged closer to Olivia, who brandished the knife in very elaborate manner, like those guys in the movies who do like fifteen movies with nunchuks only to be knocked out in one solid punch from the hero of the story.

Somehow, Stiles didn’t think that scenario was going to be applied to the situation at hand.

Instead, Stiles launched himself forwards, diving for the ground in an attempt to knock her off her feet. Amazingly, it worked, and then suddenly they were both scrambling for the switchblade. Stiles reached it just as Olivia got pinned to the ground by Derek, who bent her arms at an unnatural angle and shoved her face into the dirt, grinding it in just a little.

Stiles took a deep breath and fell backwards, clutching the switchblade to his chest. Scott and Lydia stood on either side of Derek.

“I, for the record, am sick and tired of this supernatural bullshit,” Stiles said, eyes closed, chest heaving from the stress and tension of the past ten or twenty minutes. Scott chuckled, bless his heart. Derek looked grim and Lydia, quite frankly, looked annoyed.

“Get up off the ground, Stiles. We still have business to take care of…and trash to take out,” she said, giving a look of disgust to the pitiful figure on the ground. She whipped out a cell phone and called someone who patched her through to someone else, who got her on a long line of calls all the way to someone who actually managed to get Lydia on the phone with the members of the witch’s high council.

Okay, so maybe Lydia had listened to his magic rant, after all.

 

All things considered, the aftermath of the whole witch situation went quite well. The high council hopped on a jet—an actual _jet—_ and flew to Beacon Hills. The ten coven members who had been sent inside to handle Derek and Stiles were sentenced to about thirty years of witchy prison. Olivia, her son and her daughter were all sentenced to death by fire, as they were clearly crazed and too power-hungry to ever exist peacefully in the magical society.

The council thanked the Beacon Hills pack and that was that. They were on their way back to the high mountains or wherever the hell it was they’d been camping out when Lydia had called them. More importantly, there were no meddling witches in town anymore.

Parrish, as a result of the super dangerous attack, took the initiative to finally stop talking around the subject and take Miss Lydia Martin out on a date. Danny and Cora confessed that they were both incredibly happy to be getting far away from Beacon Hills for a while, for college.

At the end of the day, Stiles just told his dad that he was going to be staying at Derek’s for a couple of days and packed a bag so he could just pass out and relax and ‘play house’ with his boyfriend.

They sat on the couch that night, after the witch council had come and gone, and just enjoyed each other’s company for a few hours, letting their exhausted bodies sink into the fabric.

“Oh, by the way. Derek?” Stiles said with a yawn.

“What?”

“I’m really glad Olivia didn’t kill you.” Derek huffed a laugh.

“I’m really glad she didn’t kill _you_.” Stiles smiled. Then, he stared up at Derek and remembered waking up with him in the morning and the threat of a fight begun with a spatula and realized something.

Stiles’ eyes widened, blinking rapidly.

“Stiles?” Stiles cleared his throat.

“Uh…Derek? Promise not to freak out, okay?” Derek frowned.

“What? Why would I freak out? Are you hiding a gash again? God Dammit, Stiles we _talked_ about this—“

“I love you.”

Well, _that_ shut Derek up.

Then, Stiles couldn’t really process Derek’s silence, because suddenly he was getting kiss-attacked by Derek Hale, Derek’s fingers sliding up his sides and pulling him close. Derek pulled back and Stiles gasped for air, reaching for Derek again.

Derek grinned and kissed him once more, a little peck on the lips that Stiles tried and failed to deepen.

“I love you too.”

Wait.

Hold up.

Did Stiles need to get his hearing checked? Did he just say ‘I love you’ after three months of dating to Derek Hale and get an ‘I love you’ back? No, he had to be dreaming. Stiles counted fingers and pinched his arm. When it stung all to hell, Stiles raised his eyebrows at Derek.

“Really?” he asked. Derek snorted.

“Yes, Stiles. Really.” Stiles beamed.

“Awesome!” he exclaimed. Derek started heading for the stairs.

Stiles tilted his head, thinking of Derek’s consistent protests of ‘waiting for something’. Did this mean…?

“Derek, wait. Is this what you were waiting for? Has this life-threatening situation that caused us to say ‘I love you’ mean—?”

“No sex, Stiles.”

Oh well.

Derek was well worth the wait.

**Author's Note:**

> So...there's that.
> 
> Also, I'm sorry if the fighting scenes and tension-building scenes were bleh, because I feel like I really suck at writing those kinds of scenes, but the story called for it so...
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! :)


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